A TABLE IN THE WILDERNESS
A Table in the Wilderness Copyright Frances K. Van Mil
Things were dull. Sometimes,
there are periods in ministry when there is a lull, things are hard, you do not
sense any direction from God nor sense anything good happening. We were on a small reserve in
Let me tell you about our little
shabby boxy house in the lumber yard. Then that will help you to understand why
an inexpensive but pretty table could possibly mean so much to me.
The house, one of six emergency
wartime houses bought for a song by the Wa-Wa-Taik native lumber yard for storage, was small but
classic and well-constructed, with two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, and a bedroom, kitchen and long living-dining
room area downstairs. There was no basement, but Rien had added on a back porch
area for the washer and drier. For the
first summer we were on the reserve, we used an outhouse, presented to us with
great flourish. We saw a lot of northern
lights that summer while stumbling over boards to the outhouse in the
night! Our organization fought for us to
have “waterworks”, the locals’ term for running water, on the basis that most
of the reserve residents had it and “pioneer days are over”. I remember the day we tested to see whether
water was really coming out of those creaky old pipes. It did.
No more heating up vats of water for personal washing and dishes.
Perhaps I would have time to do something other than this while on the reserve,
such as teaching Bible stories and making friends. But I digress.
We had accepted the call to
volunteer in an agricultural economic development project with a Christian
organization and had moved into the only housing available with our two
children, aged ten and eight. Now the
project was over and Rien was unable to get a job at his age. The only good thing was the ties we had
established with the Gospel Church believers who came to our house every
Thursday night for a Bible study. We also had many ties with the community and
trusted friends.
Rien and I also volunteered at a
I fell in love with the pretty table and chairs. The table was octagonal with a glass centre,
the chairs cane look-alike. What was it
about that table that brought healing to my soul? I like pretty things, and it was so
unexpected, and things were so dreary.
When
we placed the new table and chairs by the sunny window at the far end of the
living room, we suddenly had an open concept living-dining area for ourselves
and guests.
When relatives came to stay with us,
we could seat them spaciously at the dining table. There really would not have been room at the
tiny kitchen table for more than our little family of four.
I noticed that people were drawn like a magnet to the table. I can still see the frilly pink African
violet centrepiece and native ladies pulling out the chairs to sit for the
Bible study. Children were drawn there to play board games. I simply enjoyed
the prettiness and practicality of it and revelled in the unexpected provision
of God.
My husband, always intensely practical, did
not like the table because it had a slight wobble. A man feels more comfortable
at a large, solid table on which his coffee never spills. That fact merely
emphasizes the point that the table was really for me- a personal gift of
encouragement and beauty for me - God’s table in the wilderness for me, when no
one else understood.
That table gave me hope,
showed me that God knows me intimately as Ps.139 says, and told me that He
cares, and gave me a sense of His ongoing presence.
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